


Looking After Each Other

by Anonymous



Category: Rusty Quill Gaming (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Asexual Character, Comfort No Hurt, Eating Disorder Not Otherwise Specified, Fluff, Other, Platonic Life Partners, Post-Canon, Recovery, Sharing a Bed, Tooth Rotting Fluff, Weight Gain, kinda the hurt is just already over, lets be honest probably preemptive fix it, queer platonic relationship, soft
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-27
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-18 02:54:55
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,587
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29727246
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: In the immediate aftermath of everything, Zolf and Wilde try to settle into their new life together in London. It's hard when Zolf's still looking for a million problems to fix and Wilde is determined to keep sleeping at his desk, but they have each other; that's what matters.-Just some soft boys being soft and happy and getting better and not having to be scared about anything, as they should be!
Relationships: Zolf Smith & Oscar Wilde, Zolf Smith/Oscar Wilde
Comments: 7
Kudos: 46
Collections: Anonymous





	Looking After Each Other

**Author's Note:**

> I just want them to be happy, Mr Newall. Yes, I know I'm asking too much!! Probably a little more romantic than it really should be, but QPRs are different for everyone, and I just want them to cuddle, ok, they need some physical affection! (Also, I very much rushed this and I'm sorry, I just wanted to pour some 'they get to be safe and happy' juice onto a page).

If Zolf was being honest, he didn’t remember much about the first time he met Oscar. It had been a long time ago, and anyway, Oscar grew on him; he hadn’t liked him right away. In fact, the one thing he remembered distinctly was how much he had  _ disliked  _ him.

But seeing him now, once again sprawled in an armchair at Hamid’s hearth, Zolf found himself stunned by just how different Oscar seemed. He was Other London pale, the warmth of the fire seeming to reflect off his skin rather than warm him. His eyes were closed, chin resting heavily against his hand, but Zolf knew he wasn’t asleep; just exhausted. His face was so gaunt he may as well have been undead.

Zolf knew he’d changed, too, he wasn’t an idiot. But he’d always been cranky, determined, and overworked. That wasn’t new. If anything, the war had done wonders for his interpersonal skills. There was an air of panache and indulgence Zolf vaguely remembered surrounding Oscar which now seemed to have vanished entirely. Don’t get him wrong, Zolf loved his practicality - it had literally been life saving - but now that they were about to settle back into civilian life he was hoping to see a little of the bard’s softer side return.

“Wilde,” Zolf murmured, allowing the tiredness to seep into his own voice, “get some sleep. Hamid won’t mind. ‘Fact, he’s probably dropped off already.”

“No, no.” Oscar tried to give Zolf a reassuring smile, but almost nodded off in the process. “I’m fine.”

“Go. To bed.”

“Fine, but you’ll have to escort me. I’m ever so tired, I’m afraid I won’t be able to find my way.”

“Alright.”

Oscar seemed momentarily surprised, but the look was wiped away by the effort it took him to stand. Zolf took his hand and supported his waist, escorting him silently to Hamid’s guest room. It was a little awkward - Oscar was a gangle of limbs and Zolf was two feet shorter than him - but he was so light Zolf didn’t have any issues maneuvering him.

He’d tried his hardest to make sure Oscar was eating properly during the war, but it was no easy task. He was always in quarantine, or out on a mission, or had two, four, fourteen other people to also be worrying about. And Oscar had never liked him to be overly fussy.

Now, though, he had ample time, and it was all for Oscar.

“I’m gonna take better care of you, now everything’s… yeah,” Zolf said, sitting Oscar down on the bed.

“I don’t need anyone looking after me. I’ll look after you; how about that?” He snapped in response, but it had none of his usual venom.

“That would be lovely. We’ll look after each other.” 

“Oh. Maybe that’ll be alright, then.”

Zolf laid a hand on top of Oscar’s. “G’night, Wilde.”

“Wait.” Oscar flipped his hand, grabbing on to Zolf’s. “Maybe you could stay?”

“Oh.” They’d shared a bed before. Several times. But away from the immediate dangers of war that question seemed a lot more loaded.

There had been several conversations about what Oscar and Zolf were to each other, most of which boiled down to: you’re my most important person. Zolf didn’t really need anything more than that. He wanted Oscar: as a physical presence in his life, a hand to hold, a person to take care of. But, at the same time, the thought of Oscar going off and meeting some young man in a bar, going home with him, sauntering back into their flat in the morning, made Zolf feel… something. Something squirming and uncomfortable; that’s all he knew.

That was another conversation for another time, however.

“Yeah, ‘course. Budge up, then.”

By the time Zolf had removed his prosthetics and overcoat Oscar was already asleep. Zolf settled down beside him, being careful to place a hand on top of Oscar’s outstretched one, so if he woke up he’d known he wasn’t alone.

“Gonna take proper good care of you,” he murmured, before succumbing to his own exhaustion.

They got a flat in the city centre; cozy little thing, three storeys up. Between the two of them they had next to nothing to put in it, Zolf not having had a home in London to begin with, and all of Oscar’s remaining personal effects having been lost in the riots, so for the first week, while they slept off the past two years of fatigue, they lived off a mattress and the megre shopping Zolf got from the shop downstairs.

However Zolf quickly grew restless with this situation, and set about making their flat his new project. He’d never really been one for making a home and, with Oscar always either too unwell or too busy to have any input, he found the challenge fulfilling. Everything was a little bare, almost always favouring practicality over homliness, and with all the ropes and beams it couldn’t help but be reminiscent of a ship. There were areas, however, where Zolf had taken extra care, and it showed. Plush armchairs by the hearth, a raised block beneath the kitchen countertops so they were the perfect height for both Zolf and Oscar, bars on all the chairs for Zolf to rest his legs on, an enchanted wardrobe in Oscar’s room, and a map of the world in Zolf’s.

Soon, though, Zolf found himself with a helper. Oscar knew nothing about the practicalities of putting up shelves, building furniture, or stocking a kitchen. However, he was excellent at filling in the personal touches Zolf overlooked. Thick, warm throws on the sofa. Flowers on the window ledges. Local art on the walls. 

Oscar dragged Zolf into the city to peruse all of these items, until he became too tired, and Zolf would have to sit him down and call for a cab. He got better over time, but a particularly sharp incline or quick twirl to show off a new coat could send him reeling with a splitting headache. For now Zolf let him think that would pass - maybe it would, it was still early days and the whole world was recovering. One day, though, he’d explain how the drag of heavy, metal prosthetics - no matter how magical - strained his knees, how sometimes he’d feel a searing pain in a place where he no longer even had flesh. How some things last forever.

Oscar didn’t seem well enough to receive that news presently though. He was always trying to busy himself, either with paperwork he’d been told he didn't need to be the one to file, or with helping Zolf, and when he wasn’t he was passed out, exhausted. No amount of cajoling could get him to relax, but Zolf had become quite skilled at maneuvering a sleepy Oscar back into bed, so that was usually his solution.

Gradually, however, over weeks - sometimes months - things began to change. Oscar stopped locking himself in his office until all hours, working on post-war paperwork, and started writing poetry by the fire, head resting in Zolf’s lap. Two spoonfuls of soup no longer made him nauseous, and he began asking Zolf to show him how to make sweet pastries and biscuits. He still wasn’t much help in the kitchen, but Zolf appreciated the company. Instead of dragging himself up at sunrise he started spending mornings lounging in bed, reading and letting Zolf braid his hair.

It even got to a point where he stopped magically disguising his face every morning; he looked healthy enough without it.

So Zolf was fairly surprised to wake one morning to a gentle mumbling. It wasn’t unusual for him and Oscar to wake each other with their nightmares, although that had been lessening lately, so he reached instinctively to caress the other’s hair. His fingers brushed against a cool, silken pillow.

That unexpected emptiness sent a jolt of adrenaline through Zolf, waking him fully. Before panic had the chance to set in he caught sight of Oscar, slipping a pink shirt over his shoulders. He murmured something else under his breath - just prestidigitation, Zolf recognised - and began to button his shirt.

“Wilde?”

“Oh!” Oscar spun round, beaming. “Good morning, Zolf.” He looked nothing short of radiant. Unnaturally so, some might say.

“You sleep alright?” Zolf asked, pushing back the covers and shuffling to the edge of the bed. Oscar motioned to grab his prosthetics, but Zolf waved him off.

“Just wonderfully, thank you.” He reached into a wardrobe he most certainly  _ did not _ share with Zolf and plucked out a magenta waistcoat.

“Then why the, uh-” Zolf waved his hand in front of his face, “magic?”

“You insult me!” Oscar whipped the waistcoat around his back “This is all natural.”

He perched on the edge of the bed. This close, Zolf could see that he hadn’t actually cast any enchantments. His hair was still a little mussed, and there was a tiredness and age drawn into his face that no amount of rest would ever be able to erase. Still, his eyes were bright and alert in a way they hadn’t been for a while, and, Zolf hadn’t noticed before, the once sharp lines of his face had softened completely. As he smiled his cheeks filled out and his eyes crinkled.

“Then what-”

Zolf was interrupted by Oscar casting prestidigitation again. At first he couldn’t figure out what had changed, then Oscar stretched and fastened his waistcoat. It curved gently over his stomach.

“Letting my suit out. I’ve been horribly ill since, well, since Paris, I think. Not that I would’ve admitted it then. I took a lot of my suits in in Damascus, before I lost my magic. Thankfully that cut doesn’t really fit anymore.”

All this was said with slight embarrassment, but more so at the careless way Oscar had used to treat himself than the fact he was having to alter his suits. That he actually seemed quite proud of, stroking a thumb over his newly-tailored waistcoat.

Zolf smiled a little, reaching up to help Oscar with his collar. He’d been so concerned with trying to get back the person Oscar had used to be, back when he first became their handler, that he hadn’t even noticed the healthy, resplendent person he’d transformed into over these past months. Long gone was the shell-shocked look of war, but so, too, was the snarky glint of superiority. Oscar merely gazed fondly down at Zolf, watching as fingers that made quick work of the most complex of knots struggled to straighten his collar. His hair had never grown back in chestnut, but he’d allowed it to grow out a little more, and sometimes wore it tied up.

Now that Zolf was thinking about it, almost everything about Oscar was different. His office was now exclusively used for writing purposes. His clothes were still practical day-wear, but his signature bright colours had snuck back in without Zolf even noticing. Casual illusions were used to make figures dance in the fire, and stars glow on the ceiling at night. He was just so soft: his cheeks and his stomach and his thighs, but also his smile, his demeanor, everything.

“You-you’ve been staring at me a while,” Oscar said, a tentative quiver creeping into his voice. “Everything alright?”

“Yeah, course, sorry.” Zolf dropped his gaze, turning slightly red. It’s not like he’d been caught checking Oscar out or anything. Because he hadn’t been. Though if he had that would’ve been fine, because Oscar was a person who liked to be checked out, and he  _ was  _ devastatingly handsome. But Zolf wasn’t the kind of guy to check people out. Or maybe he’d just never cared about someone like this before, so hadn’t been able to note just how attractive it was when a person started caring about their own wellbeing.

And maybe now he was staring again.

“Sorry. Just thinking I probably haven’t been the best… flatmate lately. Spent more time fussing over you than appreciating your company.”

Oscar chuckled. “Flatmate, Zolf, really?”

“Well, I didn’t wanna-”

“You’re my partner. Even if that means something different for us.”

“I, well, yes, thank you, but that wasn’t really the point-”

“It’s been wonderful, actually.” Now it was Oscar’s turn to avert his gaze, but Zolf could see the red tinge creeping across his cheeks. “I- No one has ever treated me like you do. No one’s even tried. You are very fussy, I won’t lie, but I think it’s what I needed. I’m only sorry I couldn’t be of more use to you in return.”

“Are you kidding? I must wake you up five times a night with nightmares.” Zolf reached out and tucked Oscar’s hair behind his ear, the same way he’d used to when Oscar was trying to hide his scar. “And I know you hate everything I do to your hair, but you let me do it anyway.” 

“It makes you so happy, though.”

“And it makes  _ you  _ look like a backpacker.” Whilst he usually stuck to intricate braiding, Zolf had been known to practise a few of his sailor’s knots in Oscar’s hair. Only once he fell asleep, though.

“You’ve seen me as a backpacker. I make a very handsome backpacker, thank you.”

“You, uh, make, um, a very handsome… everything,” Zolf struggled, unable to hold eye contact with Oscar.

“Oh. Hah. Um, yes, I do.” Oscar had received a thousand compliments from a thousand suitors, all of them surely rich, and glowing academics. But this, one stuttered comment from Zolf, had him flustered. Zolf smirked; only to himself.

“Pass us me legs then,” Zolf sighed, stretching backwards to grab some compression socks. “I’ll go make us some breakfast.”

“Lovely.”

By the time Zolf had attached his prosthetics he’d expected Oscar to already be hovering around the kitchen, asking him to ‘use the fancy ham,’ so he was surprised to see him still standing in front of the wardrobe, watching Zolf with a soppy grin.

“Who’s staring now?”

“You make me feel really safe,” Oscar blurted. Due to his face now matching the deep pink of his waistcoat Zolf thought he’d stop there, but he pressed on, “I like feeling safe. I really love you. And I, um, really hope you’re happy. Too.” He paused for a moment. “That’s all.”

Zolf’s insides squirmed. Not in the bad way. He loved Oscar. God, he  _ really  _ loved Oscar. In the way that made his ribs tense when their hands brushed, and mind wander whenever they weren’t together. In the way that made him want to wind him up a little, just so he could watch his brow crease and eyes brighten as he gesticulates wildly to defend his point. In the way that made his heart beat slower, not faster, when they were together, because he knew that as long as he was around Oscar someone always had his back.

“C’mere, you big sap.” Zolf grabbed Oscar’s lapels, as he was wont to do, and pulled him into a hug. Oscar felt wonderfully solid in his arms. “I love you.”

“Use the fancy ham in the omelettes.”

“You don’t even know that’s what I’m making,” Zolf chuckled.

“You’re making omelettes, and you’re going to use the fancy ham.”

“Think you can boss me around in the kitchen now do you, Wilde?”

The brow creased, the eyes lit up, and Oscar launched into a rant about the virtues of omelettes as a breakfast food, complete with extravagant gesticulations. Zolf's heart slowed, just a little.

**Author's Note:**

> Wilde should get to be soft and happy bc his life partner is a great cook who just wants to take care of him, and also bc I said so.
> 
> Also, I 100% believe that their little Found Family would stick together, I just imagine they'd go home for some RnR before reconvening for Future Adventures.
> 
> Thank you for reading!!! Not 100% sure how responding to comments works on anon fics, but hopefully I'll figure it out! Anyway, thank you for your time!


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